Gon's Harem System
Chapter 113: Pensive Milo

Chapter 113: Pensive Milo

The words caught Gon off guard, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered them.

He’d been so hyper-focused on Milo, on the inevitable clash he’d been anticipating since the tournament began, that he hadn’t given much thought to the other possibilities.

There were only four competitors left now: him, Dina, Milo, and Sera.

Statistically, it was an equal probability of drawing any of them as his opponent, a simple one-in-three chance that could just as easily pit him against Dina as anyone else.

But the idea didn’t settle in his mind the way it should have.

He felt a certainty, deep in his gut, that things like this always worked out a certain way, that his next match would be against Milo, the most fitting end to the drama that had been simmering between them since before the tournament even started.

"Don’t worry," he said, his grin returning as he waved a hand dismissively, the quilt shifting beneath him as he settled back against the pillows. "I’m very sure we won’t face each other."

Dina raised an eyebrow, her smile turning sly as she propped herself up on one elbow to mirror him. "Either way," she said, her tone carrying a playful challenge, "don’t expect me to take it easy on you just because you kissed me."

Gon chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest as he shot her a mock-offended look. "I’m very sure I did more than kiss you," he replied, earning himself a shove that nearly sent him tumbling off the edge of the bed.

He caught her wrist before she could pull away, tugging her closer until their laughter mingled in the warm air between them, the tension of the upcoming tournament momentarily forgotten in the glow of their shared moment.

****

The next morning dawned cold and gray, the sky above the duchy a heavy shroud of clouds that seemed to press down on the world below.

The final round of the tournament loomed like a storm on the horizon, its weight felt in every corner of the mage’s lodge as competitors and spectators alike buzzed with anticipation.

The entire duchy seemed to hum with energy, the narrow streets outside Gon’s chambers filled with the clatter of carts and the chatter of eager voices as people made their way to the arena, their excitement a palpable force that seeped through the walls.

Gon had barely slept all night, his mind racing with thoughts of the matches ahead, his body restless despite the exhaustion that lingered from the previous evening.

He’d risen before the first light, dressing quickly in his battle-worn tunic and leather breeches, his fingers fumbling slightly with the straps of his armor as adrenaline coursed through him.

His sword lay propped against the wall, its blade catching the glow of the morning light as he snatched it up, the familiar weight of it grounding him as he stepped into the open space of his courtyard.

He was too restless to sit still, his energy a live wire beneath his skin, so he began practicing a few slashing motions in the air, the blade whistling faintly with each swing.

The movements were sharp and precise, a dance he’d performed countless times before, but they did little to quell the nervous anticipation thrumming in his veins.

He pivoted on his heel, bringing the sword down in a controlled arc, his muscles flexing with the effort as he channeled his restless energy into the familiar rhythm of combat.

"Careful there, don’t wanna hurt the wind," Milo’s voice called from behind him, the mocking edge in his tone cutting through the quiet of the air like a blade.

Gon groaned inwardly, the sound barely audible as he paused mid-swing, his shoulders tensing at the intrusion.

But he forced a pleasant smile onto his face, the expression more a reflex than a genuine sentiment, as he turned to face his rival.

Milo stood casually there, his arms crossed and his stormy eyes glinting with the same competitive fire that had fueled their rivalry since before the tournament began.

Gon’s lips curled into a faint smirk, though there was no warmth in it, only the bite of their unspoken rivalry. "Didn’t know you cared so much about the wind," he said, his voice carrying a sharp edge as it cut through the gusty air.

Milo’s stormy eyes flicked to him, irritation flashing in their depths before he smothered it with a dismissive snort. "Save it for the matches," he said, his tone low and clipped, each syllable edged with barely restrained impatience.

He turned away, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust as he strode toward the side of the arena, positioning himself near a weathered stone pillar.

He leaned against it, arms folded across his chest, his stance casual but deliberate, as if he were trying to distance himself from the brewing tension.

The wind tugged at the hem of his cloak, making it flare briefly before settling back against his frame, and he stared out at the crowd with a gaze that seemed to see nothing at all.

Gon had been expecting another round of their usual verbal sparring, Milo was never one to back down from a challenge, his sharp tongue as quick as his spells in the arena.

But today, Milo’s decision to disengage caught him off guard, leaving Gon with an odd mix of surprise and curiosity.

Normally, Milo would’ve fired back with a taunt of his own, escalating their banter into something sharper, more cutting.

Yet this morning, there was a heaviness to him, a brooding air that clung to him like the dust on his boots.

Gon tilted his head slightly, studying the way Milo’s shoulders hunched inward, the way his fingers tapped a restless rhythm against his forearm.

He looked almost pensive, a far cry from the cocky, self-assured boy Gon had grown used to facing off against.

The thought brought a flicker of amusement to Gon’s lips, a brief smirk that carried more mockery than malice.

Milo, the loudmouth who never shut up, now looking like he might actually be rattled? It was almost too good to be true.